The belief that a pair of them dwelt somewhere 

 in this green expanse, that I might at any step 

 come upon them, made me often forget the 

 mosquitos. 



When I reached the ridge of rose and mallow 

 bushes, two wrens began muttering in the grass 

 with different notes and tones from those of the 

 long-billed. I advanced cautiously. Soon one 

 flashed out and whipped back among the thick 

 stems again, exposing himself just long enough 

 to show me stellaris, the little short-billed wren 

 I was hunting. 



I tried to stand still for a second glimpse and 

 a clue to the nest ; but the mosquitos ! Things 

 have come to a bad pass with the bird-hunter, 

 whose only gun is an opera-glass, when he can- 

 not stand stock-still for an hour. His success 

 depends upon his ability to take root. He 

 needs light feet, a divining mind, and many 

 other things, but most of all he needs patience. 

 There are few mortals, however, with mosquito- 

 proof patience— one that would stand the test 

 here. Eemembering a meadow in New England 

 where stellaris nested, I concluded to wait till 

 chance took me thither, and passed on. 

 [56] 



